


The Secret of Winning

by Luthe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Quidditch, Ravenclaw Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthe/pseuds/Luthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quidditch is a thing of passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret of Winning

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://pen-and-umbra.livejournal.com/profile)[**pen_and_umbra**](http://pen-and-umbra.livejournal.com/). Many many many thanks to [](http://imadra-blue.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://imadra-blue.livejournal.com/)**imadra_blue** for the beta.

In Minerva McGonagall's sixth year, Gryffindor lost the Quidditch Cup to Ravenclaw. Gryffindor had the talent, but Ravenclaw had the heart. Quidditch, you see, is a thing of passion.

***

Minerva stormed out of the changing rooms, her black braid streaming out behind her. There was no reason Gryffindor should possibly have lost to Ravenclaw. The Gryffindor team had been practicing for the Cup match for weeks. Minerva remembered every cold, wet, aching miserable moment of it. By the time practice ended most nights, she felt as if she were practically fused to her broomstick. As the match grew closer, the movements and plays became so second nature that Belinda Bast had told her she twitched in her sleep, flying an imaginary broom. And yet, Ravenclaw had beaten them! How did they manage to do it?

She shook her head and gathered her cloak more tightly around her. There was only one way she was going to learn the secret: she had to talk to Xiomara Hooch, the Ravenclaw captain. Hooch was in her final year; it was possible she would tell a Gryffindor Chaser what she wanted to know. Then again, she might not, but Minerva had to try. It was the only way Gryffindor would have a shot at the cup next year.

Entering the castle, she took stairs two (and sometimes three) at a time on her way to the Ravenclaw eyerie. It was located even higher in the castle than Gryffindor tower, which Minerva thought was appropriate for a House that always had its head in the clouds. The clock that guarded the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room was appropriate, too; its mechanism was a blend of precision engineering and magic that only a scholar could love. Minerva could see the beauty in it, but she still preferred the Fat Lady's bluntness to the metronomic tick of the clock.

"Dunkirk," she said. The Ravenclaws had chosen to take their passwords from current events this term, and, as a Prefect, she needed to know them, in case of emergency. This was not one in the traditional sense, but she was sure no one would care about this small abuse of her position.

She stepped into the airy Ravenclaw common room and found the party celebrating their victory in full swing. The heavy shelves that normally held books were packed with food and drink, some of it of the sort that was quite illegal for students to possess. The high rafters were strewn with ribbons of cobalt and bronze, and the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw that sat in the corner was liberally decorated with offerings of many sorts. Students milled around the room, indulging themselves in pursuits that were, for once, non-academic, and someone had produced a wireless from somewhere that was playing the latest hits on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Sitting in the center of all the chaos was Xiomara Hooch, a smile on her face and a glass of Firewhiskey in her hand.

"Minerva," she said, "I was expecting you. Would you like a drink?"

For half a moment, Minerva was tempted to run for Professor Meliflua, the Head of Ravenclaw, but she squelched that impulse and sat, fixing Xiomara with a look that was half glare and half admiration. "I'll have what you're having," she said boldly.

"Brave girl," Hooch said, pouring a glass of Firewhiskey. "But we knew that." She handed Minerva the glass, her fingers brushing Minerva's as she did so.

"Just as we know you're clever," Minerva said. "The Hat doesn't make mistakes. But cleverness is not what won you the Cup, was it?"

"No," Xiomara said, an amused almost smile on her face. She took a sip of her drink. "It wasn't."

Minerva, not to be outdone, took a sip of her own drink, and succeeded, through sheer force of will, at not making a face as the Firewhiskey burned its way down her throat. "Then what was it?" Minerva asked, her voice harsh.

Hooch smiled even more broadly, unable to keep the smugness out of her eyes. "Come by the pitch tomorrow at three. I may show you."

"May?" Minerva repeated.

"May," Hooch said, and downed her Firewhiskey. "Now finish your drink and run back to Gryffindor. I'm sure there are pranksters to thwart tonight."

Minerva glared at Hooch, but she did as she was told.

***

The next day was gray but clear. Minerva paced the bounds of the pitch with her broom, Quidditch robes swirling around her.

“Oi, Minerva!” Xiomara’s voice sounded from the direction of the changing rooms. “I thought you’d be early.”

Minerva looked at Hooch’s approaching form sourly. “I had an earlier night than you did.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Xiomara said, reaching the pitch. “But that’s neither here nor there. You wanted to know something; I said I might tell you.”

“Yes,” Minerva hissed through clenched teeth.

“Well, then,” Xiomara said, producing a Quaffle from somewhere, “let’s begin.”

***

Two hours later, dusk was falling and Minerva was a picture of frustration. No matter what she did, Hooch out flew her. She had used every trick she knew and a few she made up on the spot, and nothing worked.

“I give,” she finally snarled. “Take your triply-hexed secret and go kiss a manticore!”

“Oh, but Minerva,” Xiomara said sweetly, “you were just getting good.”

“Good?” Minerva yelled. “ _Good?_ You haven’t let me near the Quaffle in half an hour! How am I getting good?”

Xiomara smiled. “You have passion now.”

Minerva frowned. “Passion? What’s that to do with anything?”

“Everything. Quidditch is a game of passion. If you play as if you were a Muggle machine, you will be adequate, but never great. However, if you play from your heart, you will win.”

Minerva regarded Xiomara for a long moment. Finally, she nodded and steered her broom for the ground. The other girl followed.

“You do play well, though,” Xiomara said as they made their way back to the changing rooms.

Minerva blushed. “Thank you.”

Xiomara gave Minerva a veiled look. “There are other things besides Quidditch that require passion,” she said.

“Oh?” Minerva said.

“Yes,” Xiomara replied, and kissed her. It was soft and sweet, but with the promise of something more if Minerva desired it. After what seemed like an eternity, Xiomara broke it and walked away.

Minerva stood frozen for a moment, one hand raised to her lips, and the other gripping her broom tightly. Then she broke into a run.

When she kissed Xiomara again, it was with passion.

***

The next year, Minerva McGonagall led the Gryffindor Quidditch team to victory in the Cup match. Xiomara Hooch sat in the stands, smiling.


End file.
